Bangkok (That Wedding Girl Book 3) Read online

  “What? You can’t leave me here!” With him. Suddenly the water starts running in the next room, and I hear the creaky glass door open. I can practically hear Gabe stifle a giggle.

  “Oh my gosh, is he taking a shower? Go join him, I think he needs you to scrub him up!”

  I blush furiously at his suggestion. “I’m not doing that.”

  “Actually now that I think about it, it probably isn’t a good idea. He’s probably beating off now, thinking about you.”

  “Gabe!”

  “What? I bet my...” he doesn’t finish his thought, instead he says, “Anyway, I’m going to leave you to it. I’ve got a whole night of pampering and shopping planned ahead. And you my dear, have a whole night of Tristan to yourself.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen between us. I can’t, he won’t…”

  He groans loudly. “I don’t understand the problem. He clearly likes you. He was all serious and bossy about the assignment, and as soon as I mentioned your name he became…nice.”

  I bite my lip, chuffed at this fact. I don’t want to get into it with him, least of all right now.

  “You two should bone each other, and be done with it.”

  “You’re insane!”

  “What? I’m just saying what you are clearly thinking.”

  I sigh loudly, my face now tomato red. Suddenly the water stops running. Crap, he’s finished showering and I still haven’t changed. “Okay I gotta go, talk to you later,” I whisper.

  “Go. Go have sex!” he says a bit too loudly, and I clamp a hand over my mouth. Subtlety Gabe, subtlety.

  “Shhh! Okay bye!” My heart racing like a formula one car, I pace over to the bed and plop my suitcase on the mattress, in a rush to get changed. I rummage through the small mound of cotton and linen fabric, desperate to find a bra and skirt. The shower door opens and I hear his feet step out on the tiled floor. Hurry up, Ryan!

  Okay what should I wear? Anything, just a piece of clothing. I look at the pile but I can’t decide. Casual? Formal? Girly? Sexy? I hear him pull his clothes and towel from the towel holder. I have to pick something! Anything. My baby blue push up bra, my knee length grey skirt will do, and I fling them on the bed. Slipping off my shorts, I slide on the skirt which sits nicely just above my hips. Throwing my t-shirt over my shoulders, I drop it on the bed and grab the bra to quickly slide it under my arms. Just as I’m about to clasp the back hook, the door opens and Tristan steps out. Holy popsicles! Bra fastened securely, I quickly turn around to grab my top only to be stumped by the sight of Tristan standing there, his mouth popped open.

  I blush furiously at the way his eyes are feasting on my pushed up cleavage and fitted skirt, which emphasises the shape of my waist. I take a good look at him and I bite my bottom lip to avoid my mouth falling open. He’s in an open black shirt covering the loose white singlet, brown shorts, black hair slick. Wow. A description of tall, dark and handsome should have his photo. His mouth finally closes and he looks towards the opposite wall, clearly trying to be a gentleman. I expect him to smirk or make a comment but instead he scowls at me.

  I quickly slip on my t-shirt, secretly enjoying the effect I have on him.

  “Let’s get out of here, it’s a bit hot don’t you think?”

  I don’t think he’s just talking about the damp humidity. I nod eagerly and grab my handbag which is sitting next to the bed.

  I try to ignore the rising butterflies in my stomach. I’m going on a night out with Tristan, and I feel giddy. Something I haven’t felt in a really long time.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “God, you are such a liar! I am not a fussy eater,” I exclaim, giggling as I walk back into the motel room.

  Tristan laughs as he closes the door behind us. “I’m pretty sure the waiter filled up a whole page on the way you wanted your pad thai served. And don’t even get me started on that cocktail you ordered. Who asks for a different slice of fruit to go with the drink?”

  “What’s wrong with asking for a piece of orange instead of pineapple?”

  “It was a pineapple drink. But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. You were fussy even back in high school.”

  I scoff loudly. “Was not!”

  “Every time I was over for dinner, it would always be something. You needed to add salt, sugar, sauce. Meanwhile the men at the table were always nice and satisfied after every meal. But then your mum’s the same way; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Why do women always have to whine about something, huh?” he teases.

  Punching him playfully on the arm, I slide off my flats and fling my small handbag so it lands on the bed. I’m having the best time tonight, and I think it’s to do with Tristan being good company.

  We went to a beautiful restaurant by Chao Phraya River, dining by the riverside and taking in the lush views of the city. Small wooden boats cross the river, not to mention historical buildings like the Portugal Embassy and Bangrak Fire Station still standing on the other bank. The hot night was perfectly accompanied by the natural breeze from the river, and I couldn’t imagine a better place to have dinner. The food was just as divine as the ambience. Entrees consisted of deep-fried herbed crabmeat and minced chicken, papaya salad and chicken satay skewers. Dinner was Pad Thai and Green Pork Curry. And let’s not forget, my fussy pineapple daiquiri.

  Tristan is really growing on me. Sure, he’s cocky and arrogant, broody as hell but he has a steady head on his shoulders. Within two years he wants Keys Destination Events to be Australia’s number one destination events firm, and the world’s number one in five. He’s already got his core service divisions all filled out; all with well-established people in the industry who carry along with them a list of repeat clients willing to go with them.

  Here we were, alone in this motel room on this hot night in Bangkok. We couldn’t be in a more appropriately named city. Gah! Why is my mind always full of racy thoughts when he is around?

  Sitting on the mattress, I’m aware that it’s late into the night and we both ought to get to bed. And there’s only one bed…

  “Are you looking forward to going to Pattaya tomorrow?” I ask.

  Tristan shrugs casually as he stands by the door. “I was hoping to see you in action.”

  “There’s always next time.”

  He smiles at me. “Perhaps.”

  Taking a deep breath, I reposition myself on the bed so I’m lying on my stomach. My feet dangling in the air, I look up at him. “I guess it’s time for bed, hey?”

  Tristan’s eyes widen slightly, and he looks slightly embarrassed.

  “Oh. Yeah, of course. My flight is at nine tomorrow morning. Best to get some sleep…” He trails off, trying to avert his eyes from my loose hanging t-shirt which threatens to expose my cleavage.

  “Great, err…” I’m lost for words when he peels off his shirt to expose those muscular arms that I would give anything to run my hands over. Tristan walks up to me and I bite my lip in anticipation of him joining me. Yes, it would be impulsive. Yes, it would be reckless, but I’m not questioning it. I want him, and I can tell he wants me too. He leans over me on the bed and I think he’s going to lie down but instead he grabs one of the pillows and takes it off the bed. And starts walking away from the bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shame there’s no couch in this place. At least it’s just one night.”

  Dropping the pillow on the ground, I frown at his hasty decision and I sit up. “Whoa, whoa. You want to sleep on the floor?”

  He shrugs, not bothered in the slightest. “It’s fine. It’s actually better for you, did you know that? There’s actual scientific research—”

  “I don’t care, I’m not letting you sleep on the filthy floor!” I cross my arms, and I mean business. He had to forgo a nice stay at a hotel to keep me company, he at least gets the right to sleep on a bed even if it’s a thin and creaky one - even if it’s with me.

  Tristan laughs at my annoyance. “Well, where do you suggest I sl
eep then? There’s not even a bathtub for me to squeeze into.”

  Does he need me to spell it out for him? “Where else? On the bed silly.”

  Smirking to himself, he shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  I raise a perfect eyebrow at him. “Come on, I’m perfectly capable of controlling myself—”

  “Who said anything about you?” He mutters under his breath, looking at the floor.

  I blush, the pits of my stomach feel like the depths of hell right now.

  “You’re sleeping on the bed. End of story.”

  Giving him a I-Will-Not-Stop-Until-I-Get-My-Way-Look, he rolls his eyes after a moment.

  “Fine, but don’t blame me if I pull the blankets off you or accidentally kick you out of bed. I tend to toss and turn,” he murmurs.

  Something tells me that neither he, nor I, are going to get a lot of sleep tonight. I’m going to be expecting lots of tossing and turning myself.

  Throwing the pillow back on the bed, he goes to the bathroom and closes the door, presumably to get ready for bed. Now I need to think about what I’m going to wear for sleep…blushing at the thought of him seeing me in my underwear again. Grinning to myself, I quickly get up and rummage through my bag to find my cotton shorts and tank top. This could be very well the worst or best night of sleep in my life.

  ♦

  It was the worst sleep I’ve ever had. Bar none. What Tristan said about tossing and turning, I made up for by treating the blanket like it’s sort of light switch to be constantly played with. The heat and humidity, even at night, is atrocious and even with the air conditioning I could feel a thin layer sweat on my back. Then add the fact that the hotel is located near the busy club district, there was never-ending nightlife and traffic noises to contend with. And most especially, it didn’t help that I had my hunky brooding crush just inches away from me.

  I remember feeling his torment – the way he fisted the sheets by my thighs, the way he tossed and turned whenever I moved, the way his nostrils flared every time I pulled the blanket off me. Whilst he tossed and turned it would only be to the side with his back to me or to the ceiling, and he switched between those two positions so many times I should have started counting it to help me fall asleep. And then as he would inch near me, he would still himself, freezing into position to avoid getting any closer.

  Instead, all I could concentrate on was that pouring heat emitting from his skin as it buzzed near mine. That vanilla scent, which I still smell, had made its way into my nose just when I thought I was starting to drift into subconsciousness; waking me again, only to be left wanting. My mind couldn’t stray from thoughts of how dry my mouth was, how the apex of my thighs was aching, crying for attention. Even now, I squirm, trying to alleviate the pressure. It’s all for him, and there is nothing I can do about it. There is nothing I’m going to do about it.

  I can’t make the first move, it’s just not in my DNA. Instead I just thought about how much I didn’t want to desire him until I somehow, eventually fell asleep. I don’t know how but it just happened.

  It’s 10am and I’m with Gabe outside the Purple Lotus. If it wasn’t for my damn phobia I could have had a great sleep last night, not to mention having to deal with the torture that is sleeping with Tristan but not sleeping with him. Tristan should be almost to Pattaya now, he left without saying goodbye but I heard him as soon as he got up. I just pretended not to notice because in that brief moment I would have asked him to stay. I would have asked him to take me to bed. But nothing happened, which is something Gabe is finding hard to process.

  “What do you mean nothing happened? I thought you two would have done like it five times by now.” Gabe slides on his aviator sunnies as he hails a cab in front of the hotel.

  “Nothing happened, literally. We had dinner to talk about work and came back, and slept. He was gone by the time I was up.”

  “What a bummer, maybe he wasn’t in the mood?”

  Given the way he looked at me in my push-up bra, I doubt it. Given the way he got all embarrassed when I suggested he share the bed with me, I seriously doubt it.

  I dash eagerly towards the incoming cab, wanting to drop the subject. I’m freaking exhausted, not even a caked layer of foundation is enough to hide the bags. But I have to get over it because I just want to meet the clients, impress the heck out of them and go back to the motel and nap.

  As soon as we get in the back and give our intended address, I open my compendium and flick through the documents in my bound folder, complete with information about the couple, venue, budget, and requirements.

  “The info you provided me is top notch, by the way. Luckily I have done a fair few church weddings, I will need to meet the church coordinator and priest to flesh out the final details. Hopefully the couple is nice.”

  “Yvonne, she is lovely. Terry, not so much…”

  “Why?”

  He shakes his head. “He’s a bore.”

  “What makes you say that?” I look up from the folder, eager to listen.

  “He seemed a bit closed off. And she is super bubbly and sweet. It makes me wonder why they are even together.”

  “Well you know, opposites attract.”

  “Not like this couple, but you’ll see what I mean,” he keeps his eyes on the road, not wanting to discuss it any further.

  Hmm, I’m curious now…

  After a long drive past Rama IV Road, we arrive at the old church and head inside. Everything is the opposite of what I expected. Gabe is usually the one to gush about the venue, whereas I always see a room for improvement, immediately concocting ideas on how to dress up the space.

  Instead, this time Gabe sees faded brick walls and decaying benches desperately needing wood polish. I, on the other hand, see a bright and airy space with beautiful stained-glass and red hues. I can almost hear the organ music and smell the fresh flowers, the bride walking down the aisle.

  “What are you talking about, this place is gorgeous!”

  “I think it needs a lot of work.”

  I look up, amazed at how big the space is. “I love a lot of work.”

  After examining the benches, pews and altar the door opens and I can hear a bubbly woman’s voice squeak at me.

  “Oh my, it must be you! Lacey, right? And Gabe!”

  I turn around to see the most adorable young woman standing down at the other end of the church. That must be Yvonne. The man standing next to her however looks at least a decade older, and has slightly hunched shoulders. That must be Terry. I wave to them and Gabe and I walk down to greet them. As I get closer, she looks even younger than I first thought. How young is this girl? She wouldn’t look out of place in a school uniform, yet she is in a tailored dress-suit and her dark blonde hair is tied up in a tight bun. I extend my hand out to shake it but she pulls me in for a big hug. She smells like strawberries and cream.

  “I’m so glad you’re here! Thanks for coming on such late notice.” Her sharp hazel eyes twinkle on their own. She is as cute as a button, and as small as one too. “Wow you’re really pretty!”

  I like her already.

  “Oh thank you, you’re too kind!” I look at Gabe, quickly winking at him. “Well, you know Gabe and I would never say no to clients in need. Thank you for hiring us, we will do our absolute best to make your special day extraordinary.”

  I look at the groom to be, who has a sour expression painted on his face. He is wearing a rather baggy and wrinkly t-shirt, cargo shorts and sandals. With unkempt curly hair and a big nose, he’s not a bad looking guy. He just looks grumpy - really grumpy.

  “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding. You guys must be super excited to make it official! Everything is locked in with the church, you’ve already sent your baptismal certificates so I can work with the bishop. And thanks for sending through the letter of permission from your parish priest to the parish priest here. May I ask if one of you is more devout than the other?”

  Yvonne points to
Terry, Mr. Glum Face.

  “You must be Terry!” I reach out my hand.

  He gives me a weak smile and an even weaker handshake.

  “So!” I put on a wide grin and gesture them to look down the church. “You made a wonderful choice; this church is beautiful. What made you pick this particular one?”

  Yvonne looks at Terry, and then looks at me. “To be honest, our parents wanted us to get married at our church back in Sydney. But I really wanted to spend as much time away from home as possible, so I thought what the heck, let’s get married here too! And this church has a lot of old soul to it.”

  “I think it’s a beautiful space, and with some decorating and cleaning it will look amazing. I had a look at the info Gabe provided and what you have asked is very reasonable given your budget. I just need to finalise some details with you guys, and we can take it from there. Was there anything in particular you wanted me to request from the caterer? You didn’t want seafood? Was that all?”

  Yvonne starts off, “Well, if you could—”

  “Yes, please reiterate I want no prawns, no brisket, and especially no broccoli.”

  “But hun, I love prawns,” Yvonne whines.

  “Mother hates them, plus half the guests are allergic. No prawns,” he puts his foot down.

  I jot it down. “Okay, I can confirm with them. What about flowers, did you guys still want white stem roses? The bouquet is already ordered, all confirmed with the florist.”

  They both nod but Terry jumps in again before Yvonne gets to speak. “Try and cut down on the costs with flowers, just put them where it looks the most obvious.”

  Wow, I can what Gabe means. It doesn’t help to see Yvonne’s sunny disposition looking slightly overcast at the moment.

  Gabe interjects, “That’s fine, we can just pluck them out from the frangipani bush outside the hotel.”